hayy this is life...

July 5, 2009 12:45 am

Contemplating about my upcoming birthday always has the similar effect of facing the New Year: I instinctively create a mental list of the things that I want to change in my life or lifestyle, sort of a birthday resolution, and make a resolve to make my succeeding days as an older Doreen even better. Another important aspect of my “upcoming-birthday introspection” is an evaluation of how my past years turned out. Depending on my mood, hormones and horoscope (in that following order hehe), I would either feel extremely sad and disappointed or euphoric and hungry for more! Tonight, I’m feeling the latter and I hope nobody, not even myself, dare burst that bubble!

a new relaxed outlook!

Yup, two more days and I’ll be 27, and I’ve never felt better. My 18^th birthday, I remember, was the worst birthday of all. Even if I officially reached the age of majority that day—thus the legal age to buy liquor and enter into bars, not to mention into contracts—I was very lonely and for lack of better term, in want of love. There was a typhoon that time. Worse, it was a weekend and Elbi was deserted. The only person I got to celebrate my 18^th birthday with was my blocmate, Eden, who eventually became a very close friend. We ate at McDonald’s. Imagine loneliness. I guess the birthday angst, along with the first whiff of the scent of freedom, forced me to become an adult overnight and to be stronger.

Now almost nine years later after that fateful birthday, much had changed. Many were for the worse (which includes my waistline and figure), but a lot more were for the better, which perhaps explains why I am bursting with good energy lately. Yup, just as much as I evaluate past mistakes and tragedies as my birthday nears, I also count the blessings and at the top of my list of blessings is my ever dependable family. My family are the only people truly indulgent of me—quaintness, attitude and all. And perhaps the only people who, in my entire lifetime, will ever spoil me. I am grateful once again because I was gifted with the chance to get to know my parents more and enjoy their company. It is only now that I am discovering them as individuals and not as source of (unwanted) authority in my life. Things have not always been this good though. There were the days of teenage tempest that extended until early 20s, during which my parents were the enemies. I never imagined then that time will come that I’ll be friends with them, yet here I am happily at home, reveling in my home life.

the two love of my life

Then there are my friends—my crazy, fun, loving, and loyal friends! I love them and it feels great to be loved back. My days are always filled with happy memories of them. Surely there were the tough times, but the years of being with each other already taught me that we’ll be fine, that there is no trouble that cannot be solved. Being with the persons who support me, listen to me when I’m happy or down and even lend me money or buy me occasional coffee hehehe makes me feel as if I am cruising through life. Then again, my tale would not be complete without, ehem, the stuff that gives me the butterflies in my stomach hehe. Yes, yes, I had my share of the rollercoaster ride…In fact, I’m the type who loves the fall

super in love with these guys!

It is only now that I am starting to appreciate the freedom I’ve gained through the years. I guess the financial independence from my parents also bought me the freedom to do the things I like, and whether they be important or simply capricious did not matter. I enrolled in law school when I decided that I want it. I travel when I feel the surging wanderlust. I celebrate life. I want to taste, feel and sense everything. This is me at 26. Everything’s good.

i’m so lovin’ my friends!

Lastly, what feels great about being at my age is that, after years of trying to fit in, I finally feel safe to be myself. I am more comfortable in my own skin today than I was nine or five years ago. I don’t care so much anymore if others don’t like what they see. What matters is that I love myself. I did not come this far only to compromise the little self-assurance i have. Nonetheless, it’s an ongoing process. The daily internal battles are still there, the blues still sneak up on me, I still suffer from poor self-esteem several times a week, and I still feel neurotic at times, but on the overall scale of things, happiness weighs more in my life now.

the wanderlust keeps me going!

To sum it all up, I feel grateful and happy with the way my life is panning out so far. I have this top-of-the-world, nothing-could-be-better feeling that, fortunately, is more than just a passing mood. Nope, I’m not high on drugs he he he, it only seems that I am. In other words, I am extremely satiated. At least for tonight, that is how I feel. I have not gone rich—that’s too far from reality, nor had snagged that ever elusive dream man…or whatever. In fact, I’m still the perennially single and occasionally broke Doreen—only happier. Things are far from being even close to perfection, but I’m still elated. Maybe this kind of satiation and peace comes with age…but nope, it does not seem that I already gained the wisdom beyond my years. Maybe it’s a waste of time and millions of brain cells to even rationalize…so I’ll try not to. I’ll just beam, daydream and laugh all I want

You see, I am usually not affected by such things as age and social conventions, or at least not yet. I have my own visions of my future and am happy the way things are today. I never want age to be a limiting factor to the things I do. More importantly, I don’t want my present happiness to be spoiled by such unreasonable worries about the future. Even in my simple wisdom, I know that there are things I cannot control. Sure, I am not one hundred percent contented with my life and there are things which could make me happier, but I feel so, so blessed already that to complain for more I cannot afford to do. That I am with my family; that ma, pa and bro are healthy; that I have lots of genuine friends who are there for me; that I am earning enough to satisfy my simple whims; that I am working for my dreams—aren’t these sufficient blessings already? The reason why I am suddenly carping is that I don’t like it when other people dictate how I should live my life according to how they lived theirs and then judge me based on their boxed ideas. Life, after all, has no formulas. To each his/her own.

The second reason why I am distracted is the recent unexpected encounters I had with some “folks”, which left me drained and confused. If only I could sleep for twelve hours and wake up as if nothing has happened. Yup, I did try to sleep for twelve hours in vain attempt to erase the bitter taste in my mouth, but the disconcerting memories still haunt me by the time I wake up. I tried to pray, but perhaps prayers sometimes go unanswered for some time. They say that God has His own time. Or maybe I did not pray hard enough. Then I resorted to my usual remedy—my favorite “therapy”: coffee with my ever dependable and funny friends. But I don’t know; I still feel edgy until now. Even the latter, I guess, does not have its usual potent healing effect. Now, in another vain attempt, I am trying to immerse myself in a mountain of work, hoping that the grueling demands of deadlines, lack of sleep and dare I say, passion for my craft, would eventually drown out the clamors inside me. Finally, I comfort myself by saying that other people have heavier, more tangible burdens, while I only have internal struggles which, according to one friend, are “mga inembentong dramas”. I know it’s not good to find comfort in other people’s misery, but at least it forces me to be less absorbed in my woes and be grateful for the blessings instead.

Hayy…life could be complicated at times. Adulthood is no walk in the park–cliché, I know, but I can’t help saying it nonetheless. Add this to the effects of hormones and horoscopes, I guess, he he. Whatever! Maybe I’ll try to work for twelve hours straight so I’ll be so tired to think of anything else but sleep and sweet dreams

One of my parents’ favorite pastimes, apart from gardening, is watching noontime shows—those shows in which the hosts shout a lot and the audience are expected to laugh at their jokes. No intention to offend here, but I usually find such shows corny, being the kinda snooty person that I am who sometimes have the pretension of only wanting to watch “intellectually stimulating” programs–as if! (sooo ‘90s). There was a time though when the TV was silent because my parents were not home. “Aahh bliss!” was my first reaction, but then suddenly I missed the noise and ka-cornihan. I missed the mundane things, even if they be corny or not falling within the ambit of my supposed sophistication, that mark my everyday life—a great part of which include my parents.

They go to work everyday; I also go on with my daily affairs and dramas. We have our routines and thus often get absorbed in our personal issues. The drudgery of everyday sometimes makes me forget how lucky I am to be still going home to them, but the truth is my life could never be better. This does not mean that I am happy because I am forever living like an unemancipated child, but because I know that home is where I can finally unload myself of the burdens, where I can relax and let myself go. Boy am I lucky to have these parents who care if their hardheaded daughter gets home safe, even if it really gets on my nerves when ma does that police investigator act. I am lucky that every night, upon entering our door, ma is there to ask me if I’ve eaten already. She even takes the time to reheat the food that pa so lovingly cooked even if she knows that I have probably eaten out with friends or insists that I follow her example of dieting. In other words, I feel so lucky to feel so cared for, no matter what I do or don’t do. Being the best daughter is not a prerequisite to enjoy their love. I have never said this, but I’m glad to see my parents every day, knowing that this gift has its time limit. Nothing goes on forever. Life is short, and for now let me be simply grateful.

P.S.

also lucky that brother takes the time to call even if evil older sister is usually mean and demanding and has nothing better to say than “what’s ur ulam there? don’t u have work?”

I used to think that when I reach this age I would be more at peace with the world and with myself. I used to imagine myself reaching that level of maturity and sophistication which the other 26-year olds radiate, but it seems that I am still stuck in the mud. I hate it when I feel this way because it only wants to make me feel even more rebellious. I hate the idea that I have to conform to the standards that all of society is trying to impose. I hate the protocols and social niceties, the expectations that at mid-20s I should be established in a boring job and paying my own insurance, taxes, etc. and that before 30 I should be married-happily or miserably, whatever! as long as I am married-and raising my own brood. I don’t mean to be neo-hippie or something…I just want to dig a pit for myself and live there for the rest of my life away from others.

This writing exercise is not making me feel better because even I, myself, had turned against me-noticing every bit of flaw in my grammar, the jagged train of messy thoughts and the pathetic whining. I thought that writing would help clear my mind but it only helped raise many more questions; it only reminded me that I am such an absent-minded freak because I am clearly forgetting the main reason why I write anyway. But what the heck! I am going to do this as long as I want even if my fingers feel numb, my eyes have no more tears, and my mind bleeds dry of words. I am a rebel after all.

Boy, these surely are times when it is me against the world-against the self-righteous world, I mean. I have always noticed, those who are more tolerant and forgiving of themselves are surely more tolerant and forgiving of their neighbors and those who give themselves more freedom are more likely to give others the freedom to be themselves as well.

Surely there have been times when I am completely in love with my life and the world I live in. And people have loved me back as well. I could never be more thankful for such a gift. These were the moments of pure bliss, when it seems that nothing could ever go wrong again. But then, everything has its end. The dark days crept slowly as if to contrast the festive atmosphere and the bright lights around me. It is so ironic that everything around me is so merry but I feel dark and brooding inside. What is even worse is that I have to pretend that I am fine, that I am normal, lest people hate me for being different and weird.

At the end of it all, I just want to say that this is not my night. Definitely not my night. And tomorrow I will take off this stupid prostitute-red nail polish, go to mass and try to act like a normal 26-year old.

Everyone who studied at UPLB has his or her elbi story. I have mine, and so do others–college (post-grad, for some) adventures we will never forget.There are the horror dorm stories, the "udo" stories, the terror teacher stories, the roommate stories, and the endless crush stories. Who would also forget the stories about one’s gimmick sa grove, especially sa IC’s, Leandro’s and Flatrocks? I remember, every thursday and friday night the street in grove just in front of IC’s is always filled with beautiful people garbed in their stylish clothes (going after the kill), as if there are no classes, exams or researches to do the day after. There were the familiar faces, the staples of bars and frat/soro parties. I experienced drinking until the wee hours of the morning, and still have to hike all the way back to my dorm in Forestry at 4 AM. Of course, who will also forget the frat/soro/org stories? the pakusganay, eng meet, palacasan, cemplangan and gymkhana–sports events which not only fortified friendships, but also served as the venue of fun banters against each other? In my case, my life was forever changed (for the better of course!) after I joined UP Bugkos. Unfortunately, in my entire stay at elbi, i have not seen a single frat "rambol". Not that i condone frat wars, only that it’s part of the UP life drama. At least, I watched the Oblation Run–every year, in fact.

What I have written so far here is just a small piece of an entire stage in one’s life. One could never articulate the experience of having become part of UP culture. Describing how great (or weird) and life-changing many of the teachers, how bright some of your friends, or how challenging the classes and exams were, as well as talking about your study habit of poring over your books and doing math calculations the entire night, will surely border on kayabangan. Words are also often not enough to describe the exhiliration of being one of the Top 10 in your Stat, Chemistry, Math or Engineering subject, and definitely not enough to describe the crashing fall of a grade of 5.0. But these were nonetheless important ingredients of the peyups life. It’s simply that some things need not be stated anymore; they’re understood. My peyups story is just one of the millions out there. For now, here is Kristine Nicole Espiritu’s story:

Walking on Sunshine

by Kristine Nicole M. Espiritu

Philippine Daily Inquirer; June 21, 2008 p. E3

Six years ago, I had the honor of listening to the late Raul Roco give the commencement address at UPLB. He tried to ease our discomfort of being exposed to the cruel April Sun by saying that body parts exposed to the sun are the tougher parts, and cracked a green joke by asking us to think which part of our body were always hidden and the reason for hiding them—because they were extra sensitive. He said that those exposed to the sun survive the most difficult challenges so the graduates who weren’t protected by the shades shouldn’t feel so bad because they were the tough ones. Of course, he said this as he jokingly compared us to body parts. I was educated in a private school from prep until high school. I was in the shade for too long. I was occasionally exposed to the sun, through my high school outreach program and the annual brown envelopes we were given around October—for World Mission Sunday. Somehow this paled in comparison to the glaring sunlight of my UP education—both inside and outside the classroom.

UPLB was never my first choice when I took the UPCAT. It was only a back-up, and I planned on transferring to Diliman or Manila by the time I reached my second year. Of course, life got in the way. I joined a school organization and my weekly trips home were reduced to coming home twice a month. It alarmed my mother, to the point where she asked my cousins if there was anything wrong. There are experiences that are uniquely UPLB. People say that you’re not a UPLB student until you’ve crossed the never-ending bridge or noticed how the jar held by a statue of Maria Makiling changed positions. UPLB is also famous for its “Fertility Tree”—a tree which, according to urban legend, makes you pregnant when you touch it. Being the dumb freshman during PE 1, I leaned against the tree while tying my shoelace in the middle of the one-mile run. No, I did not get pregnant if that was your next question.

I’ve crawled underneath the gates of St. Therese compound when I didn’t make the curfew. I walked around the campus around 2 AM, guiding friends home as they tumble through the streets, half-drunk. I attended History I classes at the IAST, a building up in Forestry, and rushed down to the Humanities building for Philo I. I forced myself to wake up at 7 AM to attend the late great Dean Payawal’s NASC II class. I learned that we are all children of the stars. I was locked out of my building because the hard-core tibak orgs were protesting the icnrease in tuition. I heard my Soc 116 professor lament on the current state of the nation during the impeachment procedings. I went to Sagada on a class trip to be exposed to the situation of the Igorot tribes living there. I went to the relocation are in San Mateo for a Soc 160 paper. I learned that I cannot change the world alone.

I realized that even the best efforts would result in a scolding–a loud and public one–resulting in fear that not even a grade of 1.25 could wipe out. I found out that I could be one of the top 5 students of my Stat 1 Lab Class and yet get a 4.0 in Anthropology. I had friends that could solve all the problems of this country in one drunken discussion. I met professors that changed my view of the world and sent a spark through me encouraging me to make every effort I can to help change the world. I was introduced to the chilling philosophies of Hitler, to the brilliance of Machiavelli, and the gruesome Yanomamo tribe. I learned to walk slow, eat fast, exceed my alcohol limit at least once, sing and dance in public, and to ask questions no matter how stupid they may be. And if I don’t get answers, I learned where and how to look for them: with patience and perseverance brought on by a thirst for knowledge.

When I go back to UPLB, I can’t help but miss sitting at the Humanities steps and wathcing people. I miss the tambayan where one of my best friends would take our org’s logboook and ask all the questions she could think of from "Will a change in administration chnage the Philippine society?" to "Anong mas masarap: banana o tomato ketchup?" Of course these questions would have different answers. Opinions were always welcome in UP. Disagreements were part of our weekly agenda during general assemblies.

There are still questions left unasnwered like "Bakit may taba sa dulo ng barbeque?" but this only reinforce my desire to learn new things. My mother and my grandmother always said that UP was the best place to get a college education and I am living proof of that. Back in high school, I only thought of UP as a school that accepted brilliant minds. I came to understand that it also molded the most extraordinary people. It gave its students character, uniquely UP. I can’t pinpoint waht specific characteristic it is but I’m positive it’s there. (emphasis supplied)

Now, I see UPLB as the sun. It gave me the light I needed to see the world for what it really was–a big and scary place, corrupted by men but not impossible to change.

–Kristine Nicole Espiritu

By the tone of my question, I sound like someone who already tried and failed haha…

Discussions about love-ek-ek is not my cup of tea. My usual reaction is, "yikes!". I do think of these things too, but i prefer to keep my softer spots away from public view, being one who is more comfortable with the front of humor or cold rationality when in front of others than with gushy mushiness. Yet here I am, as if having had a 180-degree change of heart, emoting about the same subject which I feel embarassed to talk about. Hence, going back to the topic, I know of women who really exerted extra efforts. Many got what they wanted, but I keep wondering if they are also happy in the end. If I do the same, will I be able to shake off the nagging insecurity that will soon follow knowing that I somehow railroaded the process? (And why do I keep typing questions anyway?)

How come that some people have it easier? Without even trying, voila! There it is–the man of their dreams. I was close to concluding that life is not fair had it not been for my Catholic-school-bred conscience reminding me that everything in this life has a reason—even the fact that one’s “special someone”—(yikes! I hate using those words—cheesiness to the max!) is long delayed.

I’ve always believed that love has to be spontaneous, that there really is serendipity guiding two people to be finally together. Having one’s lovelife orchestrated, in my opinion lang naman, is akin to messing with the forces of nature. Call me stupid or naïve for looking at love and relationship through rose-tinted glasses, yet it has always been easier for me to have faith in fate. I guess I simply grew up believing things to be that way. Poor me, fooled by the countless unrealistic romantic movies I watched when I was young Nevertheless, growing disenchantment is already making me turn away from these things. I don’t anymore read romantic novels, much less watch heart-warming films (waste of time, tsk tsk!). I am now attempting to eschew–still with minimal success—my former addiction: the heady rush of being smitten. Perhaps soon, I will be “accidental romantic” no more.

Sure indeed, it was tiring; but the physical weariness dissipated as I recalled the experience. I do  have the knack to jump into an adventure after all…hehe…during which, I just prayed hard that no nasty thing will happen—like meeting an accident or losing one’s wallet, cellphone, etc—and that we won’t miss the last trip. As to the latter, if there is a will, there is always a way; if there’s no jeep, walk. Good for us, however, we were able to hitch-hike hehe (from the top of the mountain at BACMAN down to Bacon, Sor). Now, I’m wondering what my next adventure will be. It could be anything, as long as I get to pack my things, go out of the house and feel carefree and young even if it’s just for two days.

p.s. btw, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for tina and her generous cousins–ate rosalyn and kuya evan. lucky me to have met them =)

Noisy and angry

In the dark of night

Who cares?

Who cares if the dam breaks?

Plat…plat…goes the two drops

Now, I can’t see the words

The black ink spreads

Tarnishing…

The immaculate white